He couldn't breathe.
Not air, not thought—nothing. Pressure crushed his ribs until his bones sang. Every heartbeat was a hammer, pounding to escape his chest. There was no floor, no sky, just the black swallowing him whole.
Thump-thump-thump.
His heart was the only sound left alive.
Panic clawed up his throat, sharp and cold. Not again. The nightmare was back, the same endless drowning in nothing.
Then came the whisper.
It slid straight into his skull, gentle as a knife.
"Kairen… help me…"
The voice was cracked glass and sorrow, familiar enough to hurt. He reached for it—memory, face, someone—but his mind filled with thick gray fog. The harder he tried, the thicker it grew until all that remained was absence, and the ache of something precious stolen.
He tried to scream. No air came. The black pressed closer.
Something moved.
Shadows folded into the shape of a man too large, too wrong. Eyes flared open—dull crimson, starved. A weapon formed from the dark itself, edges leaking sickly green light.
It raised the axe.
Light seared across the void. He saw his mother's smile, his father's silver chain, everything he was about to lose—then the swing came down.
SCREECH!
Metal on bone? Or his alarm clock?
Kairen jolted upright, chest heaving. The same screech filled the room until his hand smashed the button silent. For a heartbeat the world stayed black, dream still dripping from his mind.
Walls. Bed. Posters. Real.
He didn't trust it.
The room felt too quiet. Shadows in the corner breathed with him. Two faint red dots blinked inside the dark. His lungs froze. The whisper of the nightmare brushed his ear again
—and vanished when he blinked. Just clothes on a chair.
He exhaled so hard it burned. Sweat clung cold to his skin, sheets twisted like ropes. His body ached as if he'd truly been thrown against stone. He pressed bare feet to the wooden floor, searching for real. Grain under his toes. The faint chill of morning air. A bird outside. Ordinary things that felt like miracles.
But the tremor in his hands wouldn't stop.
"Another one," he muttered, voice shaking. "They're getting worse."
He forced himself to stand. Legs quivered. He nearly fell into his desk, palms slapping against rough wood. Pain flared up his arms—solid, grounding pain. He lifted his head toward the old Sky-Sailors poster: heroes frozen mid-flight, fearless smiles forever printed on paper.
"They don't wake up like this," he whispered. "They don't… shake."
The clock blinked red: 6 : 00 A.M.
Morning already. His chest still throbbed, but another feeling crawled up his spine—heat. Gentle at first, then building, spreading beneath the skin between his shoulders.
The mark was waking.
The warmth rolled across his back like liquid fire.
He didn't have to look; he knew what it meant. The mark always answered the nightmares.
Still, he needed to see. He moved through the quiet hall, boards creaking beneath trembling feet, and shut himself in the bathroom. Cold tile. Locked door. Small mercies of control.
The mirror caught him—hair a storm of dark blue and silver, eyes hollowed by fear. A ghost in a boy's skin. He hated how fragile he looked.
"Just get dressed," he whispered. "Pretend it's gone."
But the lie broke the moment he pulled off his shirt. Pale skin. Blue light.
The mark pulsed to life.
Lines thin as thread wove across his shoulder blades, curling into the shape of wings. Not angelic—wrong, crooked, alive. They shimmered like veins of burning ice. Each pulse matched his heartbeat, and with every beat came a faint hum in his bones.
He reached back, fingers brushing the glow. Heat stung his fingertips. The hum crawled up his arm and whispered against his thoughts—half-formed syllables, a language older than pain.
Kairen… awaken…
He flinched away. The voice died.
Memories flickered—his father kneeling, giant hands trembling as he said, This is our secret, son. Never show it. Ever.
A promise Kairen had kept too well.
Now the glow began to fade, sinking under skin until only black lines remained. Relief and disgust tangled in his chest. The mark felt like the nightmare's echo burned into him.
A knock at the door made him jump.
"Kairen? Up yet? First day at the academy," his mother called. Warm voice, stretched thin by worry.
"I'm up!" he croaked.
He yanked his shirt on, drowning the last glimmer of blue, and faced the mirror again. The fear in his eyes hadn't left. It just learned to hide.
Downstairs smelled of coffee and bacon. Normal. Safe.
For one second, he could almost believe it.
His mother turned from the stove, a smile fighting to exist. "Excited?"
"Totally," he said. Flat. Dead.
"Not today, please." Her smile slipped.
"Sorry. Bad night."
She set her mug down, sat across from him. "Nightmares again?"
He nodded, stabbing at pancakes he couldn't taste.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"The great Kairen Zephyrwind—only a little scared?" she teased gently.
He managed half a smile. "Okay, fine. I'm terrified."
"That's my boy." Her voice warmed. "Your father was, too."
The name cut through him. "Dad wouldn't have been scared."
She looked away. "When he left for that academy, he threw up in the gardenias. Told me he felt like a fraud."
Kairen stared at the medals on the mantel, the gleaming staff propped beside them. "Everyone expects him," he said. "They'll get me instead."
"You are Kairen," she said firmly. "That's enough."
He wished he could believe her.
Then her hands began to tremble. "Promise me something," she said softly. "When you're there, be careful. They test. They push. They'll try to see what you can do." Her eyes met his, wide and wet. "Promise you won't show anyone. Not the mark. Not anything."
The air seemed to shrink between them.
"Mom, I can't show what I don't have," he tried to joke, but she grabbed his arm, grip fierce.
"Don't say that." Her whisper cut like broken glass. "Your father thought the same. They turned him into their sword until he shattered. I won't lose you, too."
The clock chimed. She released him, wiping her eyes. "Go get ready. Uniform's on your bed."
He wanted to ask a hundred questions, but her face had closed—the wall was back.
Upstairs, the new uniform waited like judgment. Dark blue jacket, crisp white shirt, polished black shoes. A stranger's clothes. He slipped them on anyway, each button heavier than the last. In the mirror, he barely recognized himself: pale skin, storm-colored hair, fear hiding behind forced determination.
From his desk, he lifted the small wooden box. The latch clicked softly. Inside, the silver chain gleamed faintly—his father's necklace, the wing-shaped charm cold as moonlight. He clenched it until it bit his palm, then slipped it around his neck. The weight settled against his chest like memory—and warning.
Downstairs again, his mother waited by the door, eyes red but dry. She handed him a travel mug.
"Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows."
He smiled, tiny and grateful. "Thanks, Mom."
"You look so much like him," she whispered, then caught his hand. Her fingers were ice, her grip iron. "You don't have to be a hero, Kairen. Just… come home. Promise me."
"I promise," he said. It sounded small.
She hugged him—fierce, trembling, memorizing the shape of him. When she finally let go, her voice cracked. "Go. Don't miss the bus."
Outside, morning air bit at his cheeks. Jasmine and wet earth filled his lungs. Neighbors' whispers followed him down the street—Torren's boy… the hero's son… doesn't look like much.
He kept walking.
The bus waited at the corner, doors open, voices spilling out—laughter, chatter, sparks of magic snapping between fingers. He climbed aboard, every eye a reminder of what he wasn't. He slipped into the back seat, hood up, invisible.
The engine rumbled. The bus rolled forward.
And the mark flared.
Heat stabbed between his shoulders. The hum returned, louder, resonating with the flicker of magic around him. Every burst of light from another student made the mark burn brighter. It wasn't just reacting—it was answering.
He pressed against the cold window, jaw clenched. Outside, his mother's figure shrank until she was just a dot at the edge of the road. Then she was gone.
The pain built, pulsing with each heartbeat. He bit back a cry. No one else seemed to notice. Sparks danced over their palms, harmless tricks. His mark felt like a brand trying to tear its way out.
He forced his eyes to the window again. Through the thinning mist rose towers of stone and glass, reaching toward the clouds. The sea crashed far below the cliffs, throwing silver spray into the dawn.
The Elemental Academy.
Every story began here. Every legend. Every downfall.
As the first sunlight hit the towers, the mark on his back seared bright blue, burning through fabric, through fear, through reason.
For a heartbeat, he thought he heard it speak again—soft, eager, almost alive.
Awaken.
Kairen's breath caught. The bus shuddered to a stop.
The light faded, but the warmth remained—coiled, waiting.
He looked up at the gates of the academy and felt, for the first time, that the nightmare had followed him out of sleep.